


A Curse of Birth

by TAPKACS



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Complicated Relationships, Cults, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAPKACS/pseuds/TAPKACS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a month since Chuck and Amara peaced out to another dimension, leaving Earth to exist another day. Sam and Dean Winchester have been enjoying the uneasy peace left in their wake. Actually... they're both bored as Hell. Which is why when there is a string of murders of people who turned eighteen on the day the Apocalypse ended, the Winchester brothers are both more than happy to throw themselves back into the fray.</p><p>It turns out their latest case isn't quite as simple as just rescuing a damsel in distress. In fact, the more they find out, the more it seems like the world is trying to end. Again.</p><p>So the boys do what they always do - they load up in the Impala and go out to save the world. Except this time the world really does boil down to one scared waitress from small town, Iowa. And it seems like they're going to need all the help they can get, even if it means Dean has to address his slightly complicated relationship with Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post season 11. AU excluding the British Lady of Letters storyline. As far as I'm concerned, her showing up and shooting Sam never happened.

_May 13, 2010:_

Grace is woken by the press of warm lips to her forehead.  
  
"Wakey, wakey..."  
  
She brushes away the hand that has come to rest on her hair.  
  
"Mom..." she complains, pulling herself upright. "Leave it."  
  
"What?" her mother asks, innocently. "Aren't I allowed to wish my angel a happy birthday?"  
  
"Maybe once I wake up," she said, covering the yawn that escaped from her mouth.  
  
"Well" her mother said, standing up. "If we were to wait for that, we might have to wait another year to celebrate your birthday. And it would be a waste to miss your 18th, wouldn't it?"  
  
Grace threw a pillow at her mother.  
  
"I'm not going to sleep through my birthday, Ma," she insists.  
  
"No, you're not. Cause you're going to get up, have a shower, and meet me downstairs," her mother instructed, walking towards the door. "I can't wait for you to see what I've got planned for today."  
  
Grace ran her fingers through her hair.  
  
"I can't wait, Ma," she said. "I'll see you soon."

  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hot water feels good on Grace's shoulders, as it washes away the residual fatigue of sleep. She tilted her face towards the faucet, allowing the water to race down her face in warm tracks, forming small streams as it diverts around her nose and drips off her chin.  
Grace knew she could rush this part. She could have just hopped in and out, before heading downstairs to have breakfast with her mother. But, dammit! It was her birthday! The one day should should take the time to savour things in life. And if that meant that she was going to stay in the shower for half an hour, so be it. She was sure that whatever her mother had planned for the day could wait.  
The taps squeaked as Grace turned them off, a few cheeky drops continuing to plink against the enamel tub. She reached across to the towel rack, and grabbed a cotton towel to wrap around herself.  
It was then she heard the sound of breaking glass.  
Grace threw herself out of the tub, almost tripping against the side as she got out and raced down the hall in nothing more than a cream towel. Her heels thumped against the wooden stairs, the arm not holding the towel to herself stretched out to brace against the wall as she raced down them. She spun in the hall towards the kitchen, when her heart suddenly clenched.  
It was like the world suddenly went silent. Grace could feel her heart beating in her chest, but it felt distant, much like the pain of the glass under her feet as she made her way into the kitchen. She dropped to her knees and stretched out a hand to rest on her mother's shoulder.  
She already felt cold.  
"...Mom?"  
Grace rolled her mother over, and empty blue eyes failed to meet her own. A small trail of blood ran from one nostril.  
"Mom," she said again, but quieter this time. Her body began to shake. "Mom."  
Tears obscured Grace's vision, as she pulled her mother into her arms and began to cry. Sobs started to erupt from her chest - ugly, half-strangled noises that did nothing to convey what she was feeling, yet refused to stop. She buried her face into her mother's hair - not to muffle the sound of her cries, but to hold her mother as close as possible, on their last day together.  
She would not be ready to let go for awhile.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Present day:_

"Are you really going to eat all that?"  
  
"What?" Dean asked, snapping off the end of his raspberry twizzler.  
  
"You've eaten nearly an entire packet of those things," Sam said, from behind his laptop screen.  
  
"They're just twizzlers," he insisted.  
  
"They're just 100% sugar, Dean," Sam replied. "I'm surprised you haven't got a stomach ache by now."  
  
"Stomach aches are for the weak, Sammy," he insisted, turning to sit on the edge of the table. "We can't all live off rabbit food."  
  
"Yeah... Well... Whatever," Sam said. "Can you just pay attention for a minute? I think we've got a case."  
  
"Really?" Dean asked, his interest piqued.  
  
It had been just over a month since the Darkness left the Earth. Over a month of sitting at home and doing nothing. Whilst it was nice to have a break from all the monsters and death, Dean had to admit he was starting to get bored of it a bit.  
  
Bored of nothing bad happening... Well, that would have to be a new one.  
  
"What we got?" he said, leaning forward. "People turning to goo? Weird 'animal' attacks? What?"  
  
"Five murders of people in the past fortnight across three states," Sam said, spinning his laptop towards Dean.  
  
Dean looked at the screen. Sam had opened multiple windows, with police reports about each murder. Three males, two female. Two white, one Asian, one black and one Hispanic. One unemployed, the rest working in various jobs. Different towns and social classes. Didn't seem like much of a pattern to him.  
  
"So?" Dean asked. "People gank each other all the time. Could just be a bad month for murders."  
  
"They all had their throats slit," Sam pointed out.  
  
Dean shrugged.  
  
"Serial killer?" he suggested.  
  
"Dean - look at their birthdays," Sam said.  
  
Dean squinted closer to the screen.  
  
_Tara Haynes, 24yo (DOB: 05/13/1992), Murdered: 6/18/16, Fort Wayne, Indiana._  
_Michael Tran, 24yo (DOB: 05/13/1992), Murdered: 6/22/16, Chicago, Illinois._  
_Jose Gonzales, 24yo (DOB: 05/13/1992), Murdered: 6/25/16, Peoria, Illinois._  
_Daria Miller, 24yo (DOB: 05/13/1992), Murdered: 06/29/16, Iowa City, Iowa._  
_Sean Blake, 24yo (DOB: 05/13/1992), Murdered: 06/30/16, Des Moines, Iowa._  
  
"Okay. That's weird," Dean conceded. "...May 13? Why does that date sound familiar?"  
  
"Probably because that's the day we sent Lucifer and Michael to the Pit," Sam said. "Dean, they all turned eighteen on that day."  
  
Dean felt his stomach clench slightly, as he met his brother's eyes. His mouth twisted into a slight grimace.  
  
Dean remembered that day six years ago so well. The day Sam sacrificed his life to end the Apocalypse.  
  
He would never forget Lucifer taunting him in his brother's voice.  
  
He would never forget Lucifer smiting Castiel for burning Michael with holy oil.  
  
He would never forget the sound it made, when Lucifer snapped Bobby's neck.  
  
He would never forget watching Sam throw himself into the Pit, his arms wrapped around their possessed half-brother, Adam.  
  
How could he ever forget? In those moments, he had lost everyone and everything he had ever loved, and yet they'd had to do it. After all, what was their lives worth when compared to that of the whole world?  
  
In the years that passed, Dean had lost that perspective. He had suffered loss after loss, made sacrifice after sacrifice. They all had. At some point, Sam and Dean had both become so jaded that they had lost that altruism.  
  
May 13, 2010 was Sam and Dean's line in the sand. It had taken the Darkness nearly wiping out the entirety of existence to make Dean willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good again.  
  
Dean wasn't surprised that Sam had recognised the date so quickly, or that he had worked so hard to block it out.  
  
Dean brushed over his recognition of that painful history with a couple words.  
  
"Super weird."  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"So," Dean said, taking another bite of twizzler to emphasise his nonchalance, "where do we go from here?"  
  
"Well," Sam said, spinning his laptop back towards himself. "Obviously we're going to have to start tacking down people with the same birth date, and go see if anything tries to come kill them."  
  
"Great!" Dean said, smiling. "We'll get that done in no time. How many people could have been born on that day, anyway? Especially seeming five are dead already."  
  
"...About 10,800," Sam said, typing away on his computer. "In the US, at least."  
  
Dean nearly choked on his twizzler.  
  
"For real?"  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"On average."  
  
"How do you even know that?"  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow.  
  
"A baby every eight seconds, Dean," he said, like that fact was obvious. "Do the math."  
  
"So how the Hell are we gonna choose just which birthday buddy to shadow?" Dean asked.  
  
"Well, by the looks of it, our killer is heading west through Iowa," Sam said. "So if we check the DMV for people with that birth date who live in the direction they're travelling..."  
  
He tapped a few keys.  
  
"We get Grace Hewitt, from Carson, Iowa."  
  
"That's a bit of a guess, Sammy," he pointed out.  
  
"You got any better ideas?" he challenged.  
  
"Any other May babies nearby?" he asked.  
  
"Another three in Omaha and twelve in Sioux City," Sam said. "I thought having one in a small town might be easier to find."  
  
"Let's hope our killer has the same idea," Dean said. "Alright, then. It looks like we're going to Iowa."  
  
"Great!"  
  
Sam's brows furrowed, as he looked at his older brother.  
  
"...You okay, Dean?"  
  
Dean nodded his head slowly, a slightly grey cast to his features.  
  
"Twizzlers get you?" he asked.  
  
Sam took Dean's silence as confirmation.  
  
"Stomach aches are for the weak, Dean," Sam laughed.  
  
"Shut up."


	2. Chapter 2

The sounds of Sabbath are blaring while the Impala roles down main street. Dean looks out the windscreen, at the worn brick facades and patched street.  
  
"So, Sammy, any bright idea where we go now?"  
  
Sam and Dean had been in Carson, Iowa, for over an hour now, and already their hunt had hit a speed bump. Their first stop had been the address that Grace Hewitt had listed with the DMV. And, of course, nothing could ever be as easy they hoped it would go. Turns out she had moved from that address about a month ago. Although according to a neighbour, she was still in town. They just didn't know where.  
  
"I dunno," he said, looking out the passenger window. "I guess we just look around and see if we can find her. With any luck, we'll get lucky."  
  
"When have we ever got lucky?" Dean asked, pulling over in front of a diner and putting the car in park. "Even for us, this a bit of a needle in a haystack."  
  
"First time for everything," Sam said, hoping out of the car.  
  
Even for the Winchesters, Carson was a small town. Dean kicked a piece of loose asphalt, as he walked towards the sidewalk and surveyed the town. The main street had that feel dying towns get. Empty shop fronts littered the street, and even though it was the middle of the day, there might have been five or six people on the entire street. Every service the town had was within eyeshot, from the small family medical centre across the street, to the local cop shop two doors down.  
  
Dean turned around and looked at the unpromising diner they had parked in front of. The striped awning had long since faded, and Dean couldn't even tell anymore if it had originally started out with white, red or yellow stripes.  
  
"Well, given that we haven't got a clue where to start, we might as well start with lunch," Dean said, clapping his hands together and heading inside.  
  
The diner had that feel of so many they had been in before. Black and white lino tiles. A fifties bar with metal siding around the bench top. Worn red pleather booths lined the walls, with a single plastic flower sitting in a vase on each table. Sam and Dean slid into a booth, picking up a laminated menu each and looking at what was offered.  
  
"So what do you think, Sammy? Pork tenderloin or Maids Rights?"  
  
"...I think we might need help."  
  
Dean looked up to meet Sam's eyes.  
  
"With choosing lunch?" he asked.  
  
"With the case." Sam sighed. "Dean, you're right. There's over eight hundred people in this town. It's going to take us forever to find one woman in all that. And given that our guy is knocking someone off every few days, we don't have enough time to just go through the whole town, door knocking. So what do you think? Should we call Cas in?"  
  
"No," Dean said, almost reflexively.  
  
"Why the Hell not?" Sam asked, brows furrowing.  
  
"Uh...Well..." Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was kinda hoping to give the poor guy a break. I mean, he has just spent the past few months possessed by big brother, not to mention his absentee dad showing up just to piss off to another dimension with his aunt. That's gotta do anyone's head in."  
  
It was a good excuse, but it wasn't the real reason Dean didn't want Castiel anywhere near their case. In fact, it was the same reason that Dean had been avoiding Cas since Amara and Chuck left the scene, just over a month ago.

  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
_May 25th, 2016:_

_"Come on... Where the Hell am I?" Dean muttered, waving his mobile phone around as he wandered through the undergrowth._  
  
_He had been lost for hours now, after leaving the garden where Chuck and Amara had had their reconciliation._  
  
_So Dean had picked a direction, and headed that way, hoping against hope that he would stumble across somebody or something to help him get home. But as Dean had followed the setting sun, that seemed more and more unlikely, as the sky grew dark and the air grew cold._  
  
_Just as well he was wearing flannel._  
  
_A thought just occurred to him - Cas and Sam didn't know that Dean had never set off the soul bomb. They didn't know that Chuck made a deal with Amara, to leave Earth and spend an eternity together. All they would have seen would have been Chuck disappearing, and the sun coming back. For all they knew, that's what happened when God died - that he just became nothing._  
  
_"Oh, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, throwing his cell phone to the ground._   
  
_Thankfully, it bounced rather than broke on the grass below._  
  
_"Hello?" he shouted. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"_  
  
_There was no response._  
  
_He rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, and spun around, once more looking for a landmark and finding none. Just more trees. Always more trees._  
  
_Wait a sec..._  
  
_Something else just occurred to Dean. Cas had never needed a phone to hear him, at least while he had his Grace. And given that Cas was no longer riding shotgun to Lucifer, that meant that he should be able to hear Dean through prayer. Sure, it didn't get him out of being stuck in the middle of freaking nowhere, but at least they'd know he wasn't dead._  
  
_Dean shut his eyes and concentrated._  
  
_"Cas? Cas - it's Dean. Look, I'm not dead..."_  
  
Whup whuff.  
  
_Dean opened his eyes, to the sound of angel's wings, and was surprised to see Cas standing there before him. Even in the encroaching darkness, his eyes were a vivid blue, staring at him in wide-eyed wonder, as though he couldn't quite believe Dean was really there._  
  
_"...Dean?"_  
  
_"Hey, Cas," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed that he hadn't though to call sooner. "Sorry about not getting in touch sooner. Completely forgot that you're still on angel radio."_  
  
_"You're alive?" he asked. "How? And Amara..?"_  
  
_"Yeah, about that," Dean said. "Didn't have to use the soul bomb. Chuck came and took care of his sister. Took her on a holiday to another dimension, or something, so we're safe from that..."_  
  
_Dean didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, as Cas took two steps forwards and wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean was shocked by Cas' strength, his face pressed into Cas' trenchcoat. He could feel Cas' chest rise and fall in shuddering gasps, like half-suppressed sobs._  
  
_"Hey, Cas," Dean said, patting Cas on the back. "It's okay. I'm okay."_  
  
_"I thought... Dean, we haven't heard from you in_ hours. _I thought..."_  
  
_"I know," he replied, pulling away from Cas so he could see him better. "But I'm here, Cas. I'm here."_  
  
_"All I could think of was that before you left, that I should have told you..." he babbled._  
  
_"Told me what, Cas?"_  
  
_"...I should have said..."_  
  
_"What?"_  
  
_Cas suddenly grabbed Dean by his coat, and pulled him back towards him. Dean expected another hug, so let it happen. Obviously Castiel was still in shock about Dean not dying, and wanted to express his relief at his continued existence more. But Dean was surprised when at the last second, things shifted, and Cas' mouth met his._  
  
_Castiel was kissing Dean. And not in a friendly peck on the cheek way, either._  
  
_Dean gasped from the proximity, as Cas pressed his mouth to his. Cas' lips were insistent, moving against his, teasing Dean into responding, hot breaths mixing._  
  
_Castiel placed a hand behind Dean's neck, the other on the small of his back, and pulled Dean tightly to himself. Dean could feel every inch of Cas - from the stubble on his chin, to the buttons on his trenchcoat - and Dean was sure that Cas could feel just as much of him._  
  
_Dean didn't move to embrace Cas, but neither did he push away. Dean just stood there, wondering if Cas could feel how fast his heart was racing, or if he was experiencing something entirely different. Later, Dean would blame shock for how long he allowed his lips to move along with Castiel's but if truth was told, if was another emotion entirely that prevented Dean from ending their embrace. He just didn't understand what that was yet._  
  
_Dean was panting by the time Castiel pulled away. He stumbled forward slightly, as his equilibrium shifted and he had to take control of keeping himself upright. He lifted a hand to place over his mouth, where he could still feel the echoes of Cas' lips on his._  
  
_Where the Hell had Cas learned how to kiss like that?_  
  
_"Wow."_  
  
_Those weren't the words Dean had expected to come out his mouth, but there they were._  
  
_"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I... did not mean for that to happen. At least not today. I am just so... relieved that you're alive."_  
  
_"Hey, no, man. It's cool," Dean replied reflexively. "I mean... What do you mean, not today?"_  
  
_Cas just looked at him, with those eyes of his. Those deep, impossibly blue eyes. Eyes that had seen the history of the world, yet still insisted on looking at Dean like he was the greatest miracle they had ever beheld._  
  
_"...I don't want to make you uncomfortable."_  
  
_Dean couldn't help it - he laughed._  
  
_"Yeah... Well... Uncomfortable was about five minutes ago, so why don't we just ignore it."_  
  
_"Dean..."_  
  
_Cas rubbed his neck. It was such a human gesture, that Dean felt himself smile. His angel was nervous._  
  
_"I know who you are, Dean. And you know what I am," Cas said finally. "But you don't know who you are to me."_  
  
_"Course I do, Cas," Dean insisted. "You're my best friend. Like a brother."_  
  
_"Dean, I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," Cas said, echoing those words he said when they first met. "Ever since we met, I have been changed._ You _have changed me. And I find that I have been... afflicted by certain emotions that an angel of the Lord should not feel. About you."_  
  
_Dean was stunned. Castiel had basically made a proclamation of love to him. Cas - his Cas. His no-nonsense, kicking-arse-and-taking-names soldier of God. An angel who had saved the world more times than he cared to count, who had turned his back on his people and his beliefs to help him and Sam._  
  
_And Dean had never seen him look so scared in his life._  
  
_"...Cas..."_  
  
_Castiel held his hand up._  
  
_"It's okay, Dean," he said. "I know. I know you do not reciprocate these emotions. And that's okay. At first I thought that is was because you are heterosexual, and as such, are not attracted to this vessel. I even considered taking another vessel with a female form. I had done so before, I thought I could do so again for you. But, Dean... Jimmy Novak gave up his life for me. I owe him more than that, to discard his body just because it doesn't suit me. I also realised, that it does not matter what physical form I take. If you were going to love me, you would love me despite of my vessel."_  
  
_"Cas, I do love you," Dean insisted._  
  
"Like a brother," _Cas repeated. "And that's okay. I've accepted that. I'm sorry I overstepped the mark earlier. I promise you, it won't happen again. It's just... I am very glad that you are still alive."_  
  
_Cas clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder._  
  
_"Let's get you home to Sam," he said. "He's worried sick about you."_  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------  


A flap of Cas' wings later, and that was that. He and Dean were back in the bunker, and he suddenly found himself wrapped in the arms of his not-so-little brother. After that, there had been no chance for Dean to talk with Cas about the day's revelations. Especially seeming the following day, Cas had announced that he was going to be going away for awhile, to clear his head.  
  
Dean had tried calling Cas, asking him to come back, but he never replied. In a way, Dean was kind of glad, because he still had no idea how to fix things with Cas yet.  
  
Of course, Dean had never told Sam about any of it. And he wasn't about to today.  
  
"Maybe he needs something to take his mind off it," Sam suggested, snapping Dean back to the now.  
  
Dean shrugged, attempting nonchalance.  
  
"I dunno. He seemed pretty certain when he left that he needed some headspace to think about things."  
  
Well, Dean wasn't lying.  
  
"We could at least ask," Sam said.  
  
"Fine. Ask," Dean bristled. "Just don't be surprised if he says no."  
  
"Hi, fellas. What can I do you for?"  
  
Dean gave a sigh of relief, as they turned to look at the waitress who had just arrived to take their order.  
  
The waitress was in her mid-twenties, decked out in a pink blouse rolled up to her elbows, over a black skirt that for some reason reminded Dean of the Pink Ladies from Grease. She had strawberry blonde curls that hung past her shoulders, and vibrant blue eyes that kind of reminded him of Cas. As far as women went, she was tiny - maybe 5'1 or 5'2 if she was lucky - but she _definitely_ did not have a child-like build, having curves that would put Marilyn Monroe to shame.  
  
Not his type, but Dean could see the appeal.  
  
"We're still working out what we'd like for lunch," Sam said, smiling at her.  
  
"Well, everyone knows the fine state of Iowa has the best pork to be found anywhere," she parroted, falsely enthusiastic. "I'd be recommending the pork tenderloin, myself."  
  
"Great," Dean said, slapping his menu on the table. "Pork tenderloin it is."  
  
"Can I recommend a side of fries?" she asked.  
  
"You most certainly can," Dean replied. "And a coffee, thanks."  
  
"No problem. And for you?" she asked, turning back to Sam, small notepad in hand.  
  
"I'll just get a chicken salad, thanks," he said, politely handing his menu back. "And a soda water."  
  
"Great," she said, her smile all teeth. "I'll be back with your lunch soon."  
  
She winked at Sam, before leaving.  
  
"Well, wasn't she just the cutest," Dean said, turning to watch her as she walked back towards the kitchen.  
  
"Didn't think cute was your type, Dean," Sam said.  
  
"Definitely can't be yours. The whole height thing alone," he said, using his hands to illustrate the discrepancy between the petite waitress and his moose of a brother. "Although, I guess that could come in handy..."  
  
"Dean!" Sam snapped, quickly looking around to make sure no one heard.  
  
"What?" Dean said. "Everyone knows short girls like tall guys. Hell, look at Hayden Panettiere."  
  
"...Who?"  
  
"She's from Heroes? You know, 'save the cheerleader, save the world'? ...Jeesh."  
  
It was obvious from the look on Sam's face, that he didn't have a clue.  
  
"Here you go, boys," the waitress said, bringing their drinks over. "One coffee..." she said, placing it in front of Dean. "And one soda water."  
  
"Hey - you know who Hayden Panetierre is, don't you?" Dean asked her.  
  
"Of course," she said. "She plays Juliette on Nashville. Anything else I can do for you while your lunch is being made?"  
  
"Not unless you happen to know where Grace Hewitt is," Dean joked. "It would make our day so much easier."  
  
The carefully constructed smile fell from the waitress' face immediately.  
  
"Why are you looking for Grace Hewitt?" she asked.  
  
Dean and Sam looked at each other for a moment, before they both scrabbled for their badges.  
  
"I'm Agent Ward, this is Agent Osbourne," Dean said, flashing his badge. "We are in town looking to talk to Miss Hewitt to see if she can help us with our current investigation. So do you happen to know her?"  
  
"Well, yeah," she said, looking concerned. "I _am_ Grace Hewitt."  
  
Sam and Dean looked at each other for a moment, shocked, before looking back at their waitress.  
  
"Really?" Dean asked.  
  
Grace nodded.  
  
"Amazing."  
  
"What I think Agent Ward is trying to say, is that we were wondering if you had a few minutes to answer some questions," Sam said, putting on his best FBI voice.  
  
She grimaced.  
  
"Not right now, but I have my break in about half an hour," she said. "Can it wait till then? Why does the FBI want to speak with me, anyway?"  
  
"Your name just came up during a routine part of the investigation, is all," Sam said. "Nothing to be worried about. Of course, we can wait till your break."  
  
"Great," she said, looking no more reassured than she did before. "I'll just... um... go and get your lunch, then."  
  
She couldn't leave the table fast enough.  
  
"Well, that was easy," Dean said, turning back to Sam.  
  
"Yeah. Let's just hope the rest of the case is this easy."  
  
Given their history, neither of them thought that would ever be the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Yeah, I've also deleted Momma Winchester's return. I'll leave the show to deal with that.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a little over half an hour later when Grace came and sat with the boys in their booth. Sam and Dean pulled themselves up straighter, pushing their half-eaten plates to the side to make room, and Sam placed the case files on the table, to look more official.  
  
"Okay," Grace said. "I'm off for the next half-hour. So what can I do for the FBI?"  
  
"We just have a couple of questions for you, regarding an ongoing investigation," Sam said.  
  
"What sort of investigation?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.  
  
The bubbly girl that had taken their orders earlier was completely gone, replaced by a woman that despite her size, looked like she should be taken seriously.  
  
"Your name came up during a routine investigation into a string of murders across the Midwest," Dean said. "We're just here to find out what link, if any, you have to these cases."  
  
"Wait - murder?" she asked, adjusting herself on the pleather banquette. "You think I've been involved in a murder?"  
  
"No. Not involved, exactly," Sam said. "More that there are some similarities between yourself and the victims."  
  
"So you think someone is going to kill me?"  
  
She sounded alarmed.  
  
"No!" they both lied.  
  
"Look - we're just trying to work out a link between the victims," Dean said. "You happen to fit a similar profile. We're just trying to work out if it's those same similarities that are being used to pick the victims, or if it's something else entirely."  
  
"...That sounds awfully like someone is planning on murdering me," she said.  
  
"Not necessarily," Sam insisted. "But we would like to rule that out as a possibility."  
  
"Well, me too." She laughed, nervously. "So what would you like to know?"  
  
"Let's just start with the basics, shall we?" Dean said. "How long have you lived in Carson for?"  
  
"Not very long," she replied. "About seven months now."  
  
"Where were you before that?"  
  
"Oh, all over," she admitted, twirling some hair nervously with a finger. "Before here, I lived over in Shenandoah for about a year. Before that, I was in Lincoln, but I was only there for a couple months. I kind of like to move around, you know?"  
  
"That's a busy schedule," Sam agreed. "Why do you move around so much?"  
  
"I just don't have anything holding me to one place," she admitted.  
  
"So how long have you been a leaf on the wind for, Grace?" Dean asked.  
  
"Pretty much since I turned eighteen."  
  
"And what happened when you turned eighteen?" Sam asked.  
  
"My mother died."  
  
"I am sorry to hear that," Sam said, sincerely. "We didn't know."  
  
"It's fine," Grace said, waving a hand flippantly. "I take it dead moms isn't something I have in common with your string of victims, huh?"  
  
"No. It's not," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I lost my mom when I was young, too. I know it's hard. If you don't mind me asking, how did she die?"  
  
Grace's mouth pulled tight for a moment, before relaxing.  
  
"Brain aneurysm," she said, her voice flat. "Very sudden. I'm told she didn't feel a thing."  
  
"And your father?" Sam asked. "How did he take it?"  
  
"How would I know? I've never met him," she said, her voice slightly bitter. "Mom was a teenager when she had me. I guess if I was born now, we could have been on a reality show."  
  
Grace folded her arms across her chest protectively. Dean knew she was attempting to look defensive, but he couldn't help but notice how her position emphasised her bust.  
  
"Where did you grow up?" Dean asked, trying to redirect his thoughts.  
  
"Chicago," she replied, diligently. "Out in Norwood Park. Lived there my whole life till I turned eighteen."  
  
Sam was flicking through the case files.  
  
"Dean - Michael Tran was born in Chicago," he whispered into his brother's ear. "So was Sean Blake... and Daria Miller..."  
  
He continued to skim through the files.  
  
"They all were," he concluded, looking up to meet Dean's eyes.  
  
"What hospital were you born in?" Dean asked.  
  
"...I don't know," she said uncertainly. "Pretty sure it was a religious one, though."  
  
"Could it be Advocate Lutheran General Hospital?" Sam asked.  
  
"Yeah... Could be. I don't know," she admitted. "It's not something I really remember asking mom about."  
  
Sam shoved the files towards Dean and pointed. He looked at the top file - Jose Gonzales' - and place of birth was listed at Advocate Lutheran General Hospital.  
  
"You really think where I was born could be important?" she asked.  
  
"No... Of course not," Sam lied. "We just have to be thorough with our questioning. Saves us from having to find you again, should we forget something. Speaking of which, where are you living now?"  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
Sam and Dean spent the rest of Grace's break asking her random questions about her life and upbringing, but none of their further questioning was more illuminating than what they had already discovered. That someone was going around murdering people who had been born at Advocate Lutheran General Hospital, exactly eighteen years before the Apocalypse ended.  
  
Just why someone would be doing that, they had yet to determine. But at least it gave them somewhere to start. After Grace went back to work, Sam and Deam went and sat in the Impala outside the diner, and made a few phone calls.  
  
It turns out, only nine people had been born at Advocate Lutheran General Hospital on that day, and five of them were already dead. That meant that there was still another three people aside from Grace out there, who were potential targets.  
  
After a few more phone calls, they narrowed that down to two people - it turns out one of their May babies had died in a car accident at sixteen. That left Andrew Parker, who was currently on a business trip to London, and Lainie Brooks, who was living with her husband and small child in Milwaukee.  
  
"Jeesh, Dean. What we gonna do?" Sam asked, raking his hair back. "How are we meant to pick who the next victim is, out of these three? Not to mention we still haven't worked out _who_ is going around killing them, or why."  
  
"We've worked against harder odds, Sammy," Dean pointed out, swigging back on a beer. "We just have to work with what we got."  
  
"...Which is?"  
  
"Well, only one of those potential targets are sitting in a diner across from us," Dean said, pointing his bottle towards the windscreen. "Our best bet, if we're actually going to help any of them, is to stay put and wait and see what happens."  
  
"So a stakeout?"  
  
"Hell, yeah, a stakeout!" Dean said gleefully. "When was the last time we were on one of those?"  
  
"Maybe a couple months ago," Sam said. "Not actually that long, when you think about it."  
  
"Yeah, but the world nearly ended in between. Makes it seem longer."  
  
"You know I hate stakeouts, don't you, Dean?"  
  
"No you don't. You love them."  
  
"Yeah, sitting in the Impala with you for hours on end. What's not to enjoy?" Sam asked, sarcastically. "Besides, you hate stakeouts, too."  
  
"I've had a change of heart," he insisted.  
  
Sam didn't look convinced.  
  
"Yeah... Well... See if you still feel that way in six hours."  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Four hours later, and Dean remembered just how much he hated stakeouts.  
  
"Goddamn, Sam! What the Hell have you been eating?" Dean gagged, rolling down a window. ""Whatever it was, smells like it had been dead for a week at least before you ate it."  
  
"Chicken salad, Dean," Sam replied. "You were there. Remember."  
  
"That don't smell like it was _ever_ chicken salad," he insisted.  
  
Sam just shook his head at his brother, leaning forward to squint through the windows of the diner. He glanced briefly at his watch.  
  
"It's nearly six pm," he observed. "It must be getting near shift change by now."  
  
"Awesome. The sooner I can get out of this car, the better," Dean said.  
  
It wasn't that long after that when Sam spotted something.  
  
"Hey, Dean - look."  
  
A short woman in a white cardigan descended the steps from the diner, before heading left down mainstreet. Even from this distance, Sam and Dean recognised Grace. There couldn't be that many red-headed midgets in Iowa. Well, at least not as far as they were aware.  
  
Sam and Dean waited a moment for her to get a couple hundred feet down the street, before getting out of the Impala. The last thing they wanted was for Grace to know that she was being followed. That would raise more questions than they really wanted to answer at this stage.  
  
The good thing about small towns, was it really not that far to anywhere. Sam and Dean patiently followed Grace through the streets of Carson, as she walked - presumably - towards home. She stopped off at a corner shop on the way. The brothers tossed up whether or not they should follow her in, but decided that the place was small enough that they could remain outside and wait. She left a few minutes later, with a bag of groceries.  
  
"Well, this is riveting," Dean said, watching as Grace opened a bar of chocolate and ate it.  
  
"You're the one who said you loved stakeouts," Sam reminded him.  
"Bite me."  
  
They followed Grace down a few more streets. They figured they must have been getting near her home by now. The buildings had long-since changed to residential, matching white weatherboard houses, in row after row.  
  
Dean was starting to wonder if he should swing back and grab the Impala. After all, they were hardly going to stand around outside Grace's house all night. Two men in cheap suits, standing around in the dark did look a little bit more than suspicious, after all.  
  
As it turns out, Dean would never need to make that decision.  
  
Grace had just walked past another fence, when she was suddenly dragged sideways. Sam and Dean broke into a sprint towards her, closing the hundred feet between them in seconds.  
  
They heard a scream when they turned the corner.  
  
"Let me go!"  
  
They raced through the open side-gate, guns drawn, into the backyard of the house she'd disappeared into, and froze.  
  
In the middle of the yard, stood three men in black hoodies, and between them, with an arm around her throat, was Grace.  
  
In spite of the fact that she was being forcibly restrained, in spite of the fact that from the position of her attacker's arm, that they probably had a knife of gun held to her back, she remained fierce. She kept struggling against the choke hold that was holding her in place.  
  
"Now, now," the man said. "I wouldn't do anything too hasty, or the girl gets it."  
  
"How is that any different from what you're planning, anyway?" Dean challenged.  
  
"Because - at least my way, you might actually get out of this alive."  
  
You could actually hear smug smile in the man's voice.  
  
"What's with Moe and Curly here?" Dean asked, indicating the man's companions. "Aren't they high enough up the food chain to actually speak?"  
  
"They are just loyal disciples, willing to sacrifice their bodies and their lives for the greater good," he preached.  
  
"That sounds like a fancy way of saying 'cannon fodder'," Dean quipped.  
  
"A true believer would be blessed to give up their life for a righteous cause. However, in this case, I think it will likely be you and your companion dying today."  
  
"What righteous cause are you talking about?" Sam interrupted, blocking Dean from replying with another witty quip.  
  
" _Et hic est antichristus , de quo audistis quoniam venit, et nunc jam in mundo est._ "  
  
And with that, the hooded man drove his knife into Grace's back.  
  
Shots rang out from Dean and Sam's guns before Grace had a chance to hit the ground, and the two silent hooded figures fell. Sam and Dean levelled their guns on their leader, only for him to disappear in a puff of purple smoke.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" Dean snapped, walking over to the first of the two fallen grunts, as Sam headed towards Grace's body.  
  
He rolled the body over, to see a young man's face staring back at him, with a strange symbol carved into his forehead. It was like three circles bunched together, with lines radiating from where their sides met. Dean had never seen anything like it before.  
  
"...What the Hell?"  
  
"Dean!"  
  
Dean looked towards where his brother was crouched on the ground, by Grace, holding her in his arms.  
  
"Dean - she's still alive!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We're getting somewhere!
> 
> I hope there are a few of you who are patient enough to get through all that backstory so we can have some action.
> 
> Would love to hear what you guys think so far! This is my first Supernatural fan fic, so I'm kind of winging my way through it! (Pun intended ;-P )


	4. Chapter 4

"That's a bad spot," Dean noted, when he went to join Sam.

Sam was holding Grace in his lap, her back lifted up enough to show the large, dark red patch that was blooming just to the left of her spine. Dean had been a hunter long enough to know that a wound there would likely penetrate the heart, or the major blood vessels leaving it. At best, it would hit one of her major airways. He was surprised that she was still alive, at all.

"We gotta get her to a hospital," he said, knowing that what battlefield medicine they had learned over the years was grossly insufficient for this kind of injury.

"Closest hospital is half an hour away," Sam reminded him. "Closest one with the capability to deal with this, more like an hour."

"She's gonne be dead long before then," Dean said.

Almost as though to emphasise that point, Grace decided at that moment to cough and gasp. Sam grimaced, as a fine mist of blood his his shirt and face.

"Hey!" Sam said, smiling down at Grace as she opened her eyes.

"I..." she gasped. "...I can't...brea...the..."

Grace had started to gasp like a fish out of water, her sternal notch sucking inwards with each attempt at a breath. Her eyes were large and had that terrified look that people get when they're drowning, when they know they're going to die and can't stop it. Each breath gurgled in her chest, the occasional bubble of blood making it past her lips.

"It's going to be okay," Sam lied, smoothing her hair against her head in an attempt at comfort. "We're going to get you help. You're going to be fine."

"...I can't..."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, looking up at his brother. "Do something!"

"Ambulance!" Dean announced. "I'll call an ambulance."

"Screw the ambulance!" Sam snapped. "They won't get here in time! Call Cas!"

Dean froze.

"...Sam..."

"I don't care if he's off finding himself or weaving baskets or whatever the Hell he's been doing since he left. He can come help us with this."

Sam was right. Grace was too far gone to make it to hospital. By now, she was just lying limply in Sam's arms, her chest rising and falling with alarmingly rapid speed. If it wasn't for the look of terror that remained in her eyes as she stared up at Sam, Dean would have believed she'd lost consciousness again.

"Fine! I'll call him!"

Dean turned away from Sam and Grace, to give himself some illusion of privacy, and shut his eyes.

_Cas? It's Dean._

Even though it had been months, it was surprisingly simple to remember how it felt to pray to Cas. The feeling of settled peace that always came to him, as he sent his thoughts out into the world. That surety that despite how absolutely ridiculous it felt, that someone was always out there, listening to him.

_Look - I'm so sorry to be calling you like this, but Sammy and I need your help..._

_Whup-whuff_

Dean didn't even have a chance to finish his prayer, before Castiel arrived. Dean felt his stomach clench with guilt. Even after all this time, even after all that happened, Cas still would come running when he called.

"Dean," Cas said. 

Dean realised suddenly how much he had missed the deep timbre of Castiel's voice. It just felt so familiar. He still looked so familiar. Same trenchcoat, same suit, same blue tie. Same blue eyes that looked like little universes set in his face.

"You said you needed help," Cas said, when Dean remained silent. "How can I help?"

Dean couldn't find his words.

"Cas! Over here," Sam called.

Cas looked around Dean, before walking over to where Sam still sat, cradling Grace in his lap.

"What happened?" he asked, kneeling down beside Sam.

"She's hurt bad, Cas," he said. "Stabbed in the back."

"Yes," he concurred. "She seems to have a small hole in her right ventricle. Her lung cavity has filled with blood."

"Cas - please. We need you to help her," he said.

"Of course," Cas said, reaching out to touch two fingers to Grace's forehead. 

Dean watched Cas as he healed Grace. He could feel the hum of energy that always happened when Cas touched upon his Gift to heal a person. It always made the hairs on his arms stand on edge.

But something was different this time. It was taking longer than usual. Not only that, Cas' mouth was starting to tense into a grimace. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead - Cas never sweated. It was unbecoming for an angel to experience such human weakness. Not only that, but Dean was sure that Cas' skin was starting to glow slightly... and the heat radiating from him...

"...Cas?"

Dean reached out to touch Cas on the shoulder, only to have to catch him when he fell backwards. Dean's knees sagged with the sudden weight, but he didn't let his angel fall. He just gently got down on his knees as gently as he could, to get a better grip on him.

"Cas?"

Dean shook Cas gently, but he didn't wake up. It was only the gentle rise and fall of his chest that stopped Dean from panicking. Cas was breathing. He was still alive.

"Dean... Is Cas okay?" Sam asked.

"...Yeah," Dean said. "I think so. Out cold, but breathing."

"What the Hell?" Sam said.

"I dunno. Maybe he just overstretched a bit with the healing. She was pretty rooted," Dean said. "Speaking of which, how's the patient?"

"Fine," Sam replied. "Not awake, but she's breathing easy now."

"Oh, good. So worth it then," Dean said.

"Dean... Cas has raised people from the dead before," he pointed out. "Why'd he go all weak-kneed this time?"

"How the Hell am I meant to know," Dean said, looking at the sleeping angel in his arms. "Maybe he was already burnt out when he got here. God only knows what he was doing before we called him."

"So what are we going to do with our sleeping beauties?" Sam asked.

"Impala is four blocks away," Dean pointed out. "I don't know about you, but I don't think one of us leaving to get it is a good idea. I mean, what if someone comes back?"

"So B&E?" Sam suggested, looking at the weatherboard house behind him.

Dean nodded.

"B&E."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Cas is back! I just couldn't leave him alone for long.
> 
> So I've gone back and tried to improve the formatting on the other chapters. Still getting a hang on how that works here (whoops). 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

With Sam’s help, Dean had managed to get Castiel on the couch. Sam had already moved Grace onto the arm chair after they had broken in. She definitely seemed better now. She had curled herself up into a ball, arms wrapped around her legs, and had turned away to face the wall. Seemed like all she needed was a bit of a sleep.

Castiel was another matter. Ever since he had healed Grace on their command, he had been an off-shade of grey. His skin still felt too hot when Dean touched him, and it remained slightly sticky from a thin layer of sweat that continued to seep from it.

“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean muttered under his breath. “What the Hell did you do?”

Dean was alone in the house, with their sleeping patients. Sam was currently trying his damnedest to demon-ghost-witch-angel- _WHATEVER_ proof the house, with what they had to hand. Dean was pretty sure he was currently outside, adding more sigils and hiding the bodies of the two attackers they had ganked.

Sam had done a good job so far, given their limited resources. Bloody sigils were hastily written onto walls, demon traps drawn with the Sharpie Sam had found in a kitchen draw. Salt was sparingly spread across the windows and door frames - nobody ever kept enough salt in their house, as far as Dean was concerned.

Thankfully, it looked like they wouldn’t have to worry about any humans interrupting them. From the small pile of mail in the kitchen, it appeared that this was where Grace had moved to. It did kind of make sense – where else would her attackers think to wait for her?

Dean knew he should be helping Sammy fortify the building. After all, they still didn’t know what was after them, or why, but they sure as Hell knew they were coming back when they figured out that Grace wasn’t as dead as they intended. But Dean had not felt comfortable leaving Cas alone while he was unconscious and vulnerable. Although, he’d added Grace into that statement when he told Sam he was staying put. Sam had easily gone along with this arrangement, leaving Dean with the fire poker – the only piece of iron they had found in the entire house.

Dean looked at the angel banishing sigil drawn in his blood on the coffee table. Dean didn’t think it was angels that were after them, but he hadn’t drawn it for that purpose. If the shit hit the fan – and he expected it might – Dean wanted to be able to get Cas out of dodge as fast as possible. And if that meant blowing him away to places unknown, Dean intended to do that.

Dean sighed, and looked back towards his angel on the sofa. He reached across to brush some hair away from his eyes. He was still hot – too hot. Dean felt his stomach twist.

This wasn’t right. Cas had been unconscious for nearly an hour now – and for a being that didn’t sleep, that was a worrying thing. The fever had him worried, too. Was Cas sick? Did angels get sick? Had he been sick when he came to help, or did it start after healing Grace? Dean couldn’t remember if Cas looked unwell before laying his hands on Grace. All he could remember was being overwhelmed just by him being _there_. He hadn’t thought to check if anything had changed.

“If I’ve made you sick, I’ll never forgive myself,” Dean said, resting the back of his hand on Cas’ over-hot cheek. “All I’ve ever wanted for you, is for you to be happy. You know that, right, Cas?”

Cas groaned.

“Cas?”

Dean grasped Castiel’s face with both hands.

“Cas? Can you hear me?”

Castiel’s eyes shot open, pupils blown. Dean fell off the couch, as Castiel suddenly sat up, eyes searching around the room.

“Where is she? Where is the girl?” he demanded.

Cas struggled to swing his legs off the couch, his arms flailing as he made an obvious attempt at standing. Dean was _not_ going to allow that, and grabbed Cas to hold him still.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, trying to get his attention. “It’s okay. She’s okay. You healed her.”

“Dean?” Cas still sounded out of it. “Where is she?”

“She’s right here, on the other couch,” he said.

Cas turned his head to look, and visibly relaxed when he spotted Grace sleeping peacefully on the arm chair.

“Oh... Good...”

Dean had to catch Castiel when he slumped forward, all his energy waning now that he knew Grace was safe. Dean helped him lie down back on the couch.

“Hey, you okay, Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas shut his eyes and nodded.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just... tired.”

“I thought you were all back to super-charged angel these days,” Dean said, watching as Cas rubbed his face with a hand.

“I am,” Cas said. “It’s just... healing the girl took a lot of energy.”

“But why?” Dean asked. “I mean, you’ve brought people back from the dead how many times? You burn demons out of their eye sockets like most people swat flies. Hell, you actually dragged me out of _Hell_.”

Cas lowered his hand to look at Dean. He looked unimpressed.

“Do you really not know who she is?” Castiel asked.

“Well, yeah. She’s a waitress called Grace Hewitt. She works at a little diner out here in Iowa...”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “That girl is the Child of God.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What do you mean, she’s the Child of God?” Sam asked.

“As in 'blood-of-Chuck’s-blood' Child of God,” Dean replied.

Dean, Sam and Cas stood in the kitchen – well, Dean and Sam were standing, Cas was sitting in a chair they had pulled up, still too tired to stand for very long – looking back towards where Grace still slept in an arm chair.

Cas nodded tiredly.

“She is the offspring of the Lord,” he concurred.

“But… what does that mean, exactly?” Sam asked. “I mean, did Chuck just forget to use a condom, or was she deliberate?”

“Father never does _anything_ on accident.” Cas sounded almost defensive. “Although I very much doubt that her creation required intercourse. He probably just fertilised Grace’s mother’s ovum with his Grace.”

“Of course. Cause that happens so frequently.”

“Well, it happened at least _once_ before,” Dean pointed out, smiling.

Sam glared at him.

Dean hated to admit it, but it was rather amusing to watch his little brother lose his shit about having the second coming of Jesus sleeping in the lounge room. Although when Cas had first woken up and announced that Grace was the Child of God, Dean had freaked out as well. But after talking with Cas, and comparing it to all the other weird shit that had happened in their lives on a semi-regular basis, he concluded it wasn't that big of a deal, after all.

Apart from the whole cult of hooded people currently trying to kill Grace, of course.

“I’m being serious, Dean,” Sam said. “Child of God… I mean… That’s heavy duty biblical type shit.”

“Yeah, well, and the Apocalypse wasn’t?” Dean pointed out. “How about the End of Days with Amara?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, before turning to Castiel.

“How sure _are_ you that Grace is the Child of God?” Sam asked. “I mean, really?”

“A hundred percent,” Castiel replied. “It is the job of the Host of Heaven to recognise God’s Grace, in all it’s forms. Traditionally, we would also be the ones to announce such an arrival to the world, but apparently his ignorance of us at the time extended to this as well.”

“But Grace’s mother was a teenage mother,” Sam pointed out. “Chuck wouldn’t choose to impregnate a teenager.”

“Miryam was twelve when she became pregnant with Yeshu’a,” Cas said. “…Although I must admit she _had_ turned thirteen by the time of his birth.”

“…Miryam?” Dean asked.

“I believe her Anglicised name would be Mary,” Cas supplied.

“See?” Dean said. “Chuck has always had a thing for the younger ladies. Although… Twelve – Ew, Chuck!”

“Twelve was the average age for women to get married back then,” Cas said, by way of explanation. 

“Yeah, but still,” Dean said, making a face.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said, shutting down that particular conversation. “The important thing is – what are we meant to do with her? Cause we already know at least one bat-shit-crazy group is out for her blood.”

“Yes, about that,” Cas said. “Who was it that attacked her?”

“Hell if we know,” Dean said. “First time we came along this particular brand of nut jobs.”

“What can you tell me about them?” Cas asked, earnestly.

“Not a lot,” Sam said. “Just that they’re hunting down and murdering everyone born at the same place and date as Grace.”

“They wore black hoodies, spoke a lot of religious mumbo jumbo,” Dean supplied. 

“What sort of religious mumbo jumbo?” Cas asked.

“Just about being righteous and willing to sacrifice their life for what they believe in, yada yada,” Dean said.

“They believe in Yada Yada? I have not heard of this deity…”

“No, Cas. Yada yada – it’s shorthand for them saying other stuff not worth summarising,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

“They also said something in a different language,” Sam said. “I think it might have been Latin.”

Cas pulled himself up straighter in his chair, clearly interested.

“What did they say.”

Sam looked at Dean.

“Ad hoc ass Anna-Christie…?” Sam said, trying to recall. “Deco… Audi… Venti…”

“… _Et hic est antichristus, de quo audistis quoniam venit, et nunc jam in mudo est_?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah… that!” Dean said, pointing at Cas. “Definitely that!”

“What does that mean, Cas?”

“It’s from 1 John 4:3 – _And this is the spirit of the antichrist, of which you have heard that it is coming; and now it is already in the world_.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, realisation dawning on them.

“The antichrist,” Sam said.

“Jesse.” Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Oh, man. And I thought that kid was going to grow up to be a good egg.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said. “God… How long ago was it when we last saw him? He must be, what… eighteen by now?”

“I did tell you at the time the boy would grow up to be someone dangerous,” Cas pointed out.

“But he might not have,” Dean said. “We weren’t just going to gank a kid just because he had the _potential_ to turn evil. Hell, how many times now have any of us been evil ourselves? You included, Cas.”

Cas grumbled slightly.

“But he wasn’t working with demons,” Sam said. “We killed two of his minions tonight. No puffs of black smoke. Just two dead guys with things carved into their heads.”

“What was carved into their heads?” Cas asked.

“Here – I’ll show you.”

Sam pulled out his now-favourite Sharpie from his pocket, and began to draw the symbol directly onto the kitchen bench (because, let’s face it – Grace was NEVER getting her deposit back). Just before adding the final radiating line, Castiel grabbed Sam’s hand and forced him to scribble across the drawing.

“…I take it you know what that is, then,” Sam said, watching as Castiel’s scowl deepened.

“It’s the Mark of the Beast,” he explained.

“Well, I guess that goes along with the whole antichrist thing,” Dean said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Cas snapped. “The Beast and the antichrist are two very different things. The Beast is a creature of the abyss and is meant to direct mankind in their worship of the antichrist. If the two have already joined forces, we are in serious trouble, indeed.”

“What do you mean, creature of the abyss?” Sam asked.

“No one knows,” Cas admitted. “His coming was prophesised, but not his form. Sometimes described as a creature not dissimilar to a dragon, others times as a multi-headed animal who bore horns, others describe him as a charismatic man with multiple faces. John was always one of the more lyrical of prophets. You could never tell if he spoke truly or layered things in symbolism.”

“Oh, great,” Dean said. “So we may be fighting a nightmare beast of legend, or we might just be fighting some whack job that likes going around playing dress-ups.”

“I very much doubt they’d be wearing a costume, Dean…”

“I wasn’t being literal…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said, taking control of the conversation once more. “Cas’ point still stands – if the antichrist and the Beast are already working together, this can only be a bad thing. So what are we going to do?”

Dean sighed, as he watched his last hopes of having a year without the world trying to end fly out the window.

“We do what we have to do, Sammy,” he said. “Save the cheerleader, save the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition, exposition, exposition!


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Grace had finally woken up, the boys had put together a plan of sorts. Not their best plan ever - more like a skeleton of a plan - but it was still better than them waiting around like sitting ducks for the minions of the antichrist to come and kill them.

Their proto-plan boiled down to three major steps:

1\. Get the Impala.  
2\. Haul ass back to the bunker.  
3\. Make a new plan.

There was also a step four, that not everyone was happy with - Do NOT tell Grace she was the Child of God.

Dean had been very set on that last step, however, Castiel was not. Cas was all _the girl has a right to know her destiny_ , whereas Dean thought that maybe dropping the whole God-is-real-and-so-is-the-antichrist-oh-and-by-the-way-you're-God's-daughter-and-the-antichrist-wants-you-dead could wait until she actually had time to process what that meant.

To be honest, it wasn't even like any of them actually knew what being a Child of God meant, anyway. For all they knew, Grace could just be a regular girl who happened to have some of the Big Daddy's DNA. She might never be able to walk on water or turn water into wine, and to be honest, that was a good thing. Dean knew all too well what it meant to be part of the Big Picture, and he wanted to give Grace as much time living her normal life as he could before he dropped a steaming pile of Destiny on her.

Thankfully, Sam was also on the side of Revelations-can-wait, and with a two-to-one vote, Cas was forced to capitulate into waiting to scare the shit out of Grace until after they were safe, and had time for her to wrap her head around things.

It didn't mean Cas was happy about it, though. Dean had to admit, Cas' sulking abilities had improved over the years that they had known each other. He was currently putting on his best pout face, sitting on his kitchen chair, with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He appeared to be mumbling something to himself in Enochian, interspersed with what sounded to Dean an awful lot like curse words.

Grace had only woken up a few minutes ago, and it hadn't gone smoothly. Dean had made the mistake of sending Sam off to get the Impala about two minutes before she woke up, meaning he was stuck dealing with Grace's freak out about still being alive, when all logic said she should be dead. Dean had never been great at the touchy-feely crap, and trying to calm down an upset woman he didn't really know and being unable to tell her exactly why someone killed her and how she survived was a lot more difficult than he hoped.

Damn you, step four.

"But that's impossible," Grace insisted. "I should be dead. _I should be dead!_ Maybe I am dead..."

Dean sighed, as Grace once more circled back to the point that her brain seemed to be stuck on.

"You're not dead," he repeated. "I told you - we found you and we saved you."

"But how?" she demanded. "I mean, I know you say that you go around hunting monsters, and you used magic to save me, but how do I know that I'm not just imagining all this and I am actually dead?"

"Why the Hell would you be imagining me?" Dean asked, getting a bit short tempered.

"I dunno. Maybe because you were the last random hot guy I saw _before being stabbed in the back_. Maybe my brain just wanted something pretty to look at while it switched off."

Dean could have sworn Cas' mumblings just went up a notch.

"Then why isn't Sam here with us?" Dean asked.

She shrugged.

"Not my type. Too tall."

Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"So you substitute him with sullen and grumbling over there?" Dean asked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at Castiel.

Grace looked around Dean, to finally lay her eyes on where Cas sat. She instantly looked confused.

"Who is that?" she asked, pointing at Cas.

"That's Castiel. He's the guy who healed you."

"I am an angel of the Lord," he added.

"Cas!" Dean snapped. "Ix-nay on the gel-anay!"

Cas rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat.

"He's really an angel?" Grace asked, looking at Dean. "Oh God... I really am dead."

"You are not dead," Cas and Dean said in unison. 

"Angels do not attend reapings. I did, however, heal your wounds," Cas added.

"But why?"

"Because you're the Child of God."

"Cas!" Dean snapped angrily.

_Goddamn it, Cas. We had a plan!_ he shouted in silent prayer. Cas just raised an eyebrow at him as though to say, _Well, she asked..._

Maybe teaching Castiel how to rebel was a bad thing, after all...

Dean turned back to face Grace, whose mouth had begun to shape a little 'o' in shock.

"Ignore him," Dean said. "Angels - they kind of speak all old testament-y like. You're a Child of God... I'm a Child of God... All very confusing unless you're used to them. What he _meant_ to say is that it's the angels job to protect humans. You were hurt, so he helped. Isn't that right, Cas?"

Cas gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Yes," he said. "Dean called upon me to heal you, and so I did so."

"Thank you!" Dean said. "So do you believe us know when we say you're not dead?"

"I... I guess so," Grace ceded, rubbing her neck. "It's just such a huge idea to get my head around."

"Great! So how about we give you a little breathing space to think things through? We'll just be in the next room if you need something..."

Dean walked into the kitchen, grabbed Cas by the collar, and dragged him around the corner. He pressed the shorter man up against the partition wall, holding him by the lapels of his trench coat. Dean's body was almost vibrating with anger, but Cas just stared at him calmly, as if being pinned against a wall was a normal thing.

"What the Hell, Cas?" Dean snapped in a harsh whisper. "We agreed."

"No - _you_ agreed," Cas said. " _I_ was forced to comply. Besides, at no point during our conversation did you say that I was not allowed to tell her that I was an angel."

"But then you told her she was the Child of God!"

" _Only_ after she asked me why I healed her," he pointed out. "I may have agreed to withhold the truth from her, Dean, but I never agreed to lie for you. The girl has a right to know."

"And she will know," Dean said. "I just didn't want her to find out now, while she's scared and confused and in danger."

"But why?"

"I just want her to have a choice in all this, Cas," Dean said. "I didn't have a choice, when you came and yanked me out of Hell, and told me I had to stop the Apocalypse. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you did. I'll be grateful that you got me out of there until the day I die. But I know what it's like for someone to thrust destiny on you and suddenly your life is no longer your own. God forbid I want to protect that illusion for her for just a while longer."

Dean was surprised when Cas chuckled.

"Dean, you have never done anything that you didn't decide to do yourself from the moment I met you," he said. "I say stop the Apocalypse, you say sure but do it your way. Zachariah says you have to accept Michael to end the Apocalypse, you refuse but you _save the world anyway_. Amara wants you to join her, while she destroys the universe and Father, you talk her down and save _everything_."

Cas grabbed the lapels of Dean's jacket.

"Just because a task is set before you does not mean that you do not have a choice in how you achieve it," Cas said. "You are living proof of that. By withholding the truth of Grace's birth from her, _you_ are the one trapping her. How is she meant to understand what is happening to her or choose what path to follow when you withhold that most vital of information from her?"

Somehow Cas' hands had slipped down to rest over Dean's heart.

"Trust Grace to make the right choices, Dean," Cas said, his voice so low it was almost a purr. "Father never sets someone a challenge he does not think they can achieve. Believe in Grace like I believed in you."

There was a look of awe in Castiel's eyes, as he looked up at Dean. Of absolute trust that Dean would make the right decision. God, didn't Dean want to deserve that trust.

Dean sighed, releasing his grip from Cas' trench coat and taking a step back.

"Okay," Dean said. "We'll tell her. Let Grace make up her own mind on what to do from here. But I do think we need to wait until we get to the bunker. She's gonna have a lot of questions. I want her to be safe while she asks those questions."

Dean was rewarded with a smile from Cas.

"That's all I ask," Cas said.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't hard for Sam and Dean to convince Grace that she had to leave town. Let's face it - it was hard to feel too attached to a place where you had recently been stabbed in the back, especially when the people who did the stabbing were still at large.

Grace had moved a lot over the past six years. In fact, packing and unpacking a house was starting to feel second nature to her. It seemed like every couple months she was packing up and moving to yet another town in the Midwest. Hell, she probably would have more frequently, had she not been restricted by finances and rental agreements. Her mother's death had inspired a sense of wanderlust in her, and she had never felt comfortable staying in one place too long.

It was weird, then, that she felt so sad to be leaving Carson.

Well, not sad, exactly. She felt naked. Sam and Dean were very specific with their instructions for packing. She was only allowed to bring one bag (their car was going to be full enough with four adults and belongings as is), and they recommended that she only bring absolute essentials. Mostly clothes and toiletries, and maybe one or two small keepsakes that she couldn't bear to part with. All electronic devices, including her mobile phone and laptop, had to be left behind. As did her wallet. 

"Until we find the guys who want to hurt you, Grace Hewitt is dead," Sam had said.

He didn't say it in a mean way. He actually sounded sad, like someone who had experienced all too well what it felt like to shed the identity that you had worn your entire life, and all the people that came with it. 

Grace had only been given half an hour to pack. She'd been told that they couldn't stay any longer. The longer there remained here, the more likely it was that her attackers would come back. Besides, she'd been told that they had a four hour car ride ahead of them, and as it was, they probably wouldn't get to their destination until maybe one or two am - not that she knew where they were going, anyway.

For someone who was so used to moving, it was surprisingly hard to chose what to pack. What shirts and pants should she bring? How many pairs of underwear? Should she be bothered packing skirts - they were hardly sensible attire, after all. What about jumpers or cardigans? It might have been summer now, but who knew how long she'd be away for? 

What wasn't hard for Grace was to pick which personal items to bring. She picked up the silver frame from her bedside table, looking at the photograph of her mother and her on her 15th birthday for a moment before putting it in her bag. She then opened the top draw in her bedside table, and pulled out a necklace. It wasn't anything special - just a little heart-shaped silver pendant, with a small dent in it where Grace had bit it while teething - but it had been her mother's. Grace couldn't remember ever seeing her without it. She had been wearing it when she died. Grace could never leave that last little bit of her mother behind.

Grace sighed, as she raised her hand and clipped her mother's necklace around her neck. She looked around her room one last time, before zipping up her gym bag, slinging it over her shoulder and leaving her bedroom for the last time.

Three sets of eyes were waiting for her when she left her room. They stood in the lounge, conversation suddenly going silent when she entered.

"Okay," Grace said, forcing a smile to her face. "Let's get this show on the road."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean had to admit that the drive to Kansas was not the most pleasant road trip they'd ever had.

For one thing, it was crowded. Dean couldn't remember the last time the Impala had so many people in it for a long-haul drive. Grace and Sam were in the backseat, Sam's gangly legs awkwardly tucked into Grace's space just because they didn't fit anywhere else. Dean knew it hadn't been a good idea to relegate his more-than-averagely-tall brother to the back seat, but he just hadn't felt comfortable letting Cas sit next to Grace for four whole hours.

It wasn't that Dean thought Cas might spill the beans on Grace's parentage again. It was more that since Cas had woken up more, he'd developed this strange habit of staring at Grace. Hell, when Grace was in her room packing in Carson, he'd just stared at the damned closed door until she returned. Dean had to presume it was some kind of angel thing to do with her being the Child of God or something, but it was still unnerving. He didn't think Grace would be comfortable having Cas stare at her for four hours. Hell, Dean had felt uncomfortable enough watching it.

Yet somehow having Cas ride shotgun with him was equally as unnerving. It was ridiculous - how many times had Dean and Cas been in this car together over the years? But for some reason, every time he looked across at Cas as he sat there, staring out the windscreen, Dean's heart started to race.

_It had only been a month,_ Dean reminded himself. Only a month since the big showdown with Amara. And yet it felt like it had been years since Cas had sat beside him. Dean felt like he didn't know what he should be doing with his arms or legs. He didn't know how often he was allowed to look at Cas, or for how long, or if he should just ignore him and concentrate on the road. And yet when he tried to do just that, he got that uneasy feeling between his shoulder blades, like there was something just outside of his field of vision that was demanding his attention. It was maddening, to say the least.

_Why did Cas come back this time?_ Dean asked himself, and not for the first time that day.

In those first few days, when Cas had first left, Dean must have prayed to him a thousand times. _Begged_ him to come back. That they could sort shit out. That they could go back to what they were before. But Cas had ignored each and every prayer. And yet today, when Dean had called, Cas had come running.

Dean looked in the rear view mirror. Both of his passengers had fallen asleep by now, Sam's face smushed against the window, creating small puffs of mist on the glass with each breath. Dean felt himself smile, before that sense of unease drew his attention back towards Castiel, who was still studiously focusing on the road, like Dean should be.

_Ah... Fuck it._

"Why did you come today?"

Castiel turned to face Dean, and did that owl-like head-tilt thing he does when he's confused, but remained silent. God, how did Dean forget that?

"Why did you come?" Dean repeated, just to make sure Cas knew he was talking to him.

"...I'm sorry?"

"Today," Dean clarified. "Why did you come today?"

"...Because you prayed," Cas said. He blinked slowly, twice.

"But I've been praying, Cas," Dean said. "You ignored all those. Why this prayer?"

Cas looked at him like it should have been obvious.

"Because you actually meant this one."

Cas shifted in his seat slightly, to face Dean better, the seatbelt that he always insisted on wearing pulling across his chest.

"Dean, I don't know if you know this, but you don't pray with your mind. You pray with your soul. Just because your thoughts form words does not mean that is the message we get. What we hear is... Oh, how do I explain this... We feel the feelings behind the words." 

He sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"We don't focus on what you are asking, but why you are asking it. When you prayed to me after we... Well, I felt your apprehension. You didn't want to see me. You just felt like you had to ask. Today, when you called, I knew you needed me. Dean, I will always come if you need me."

He fixed Dean's eyes with his own.

"Never doubt that I will always come, Dean."

Dean's lips pressed together as tightly as his hands gripped the steering wheel. He focused on the road ahead, waiting for the burning sensation to leave his eyes.

"...I think it's about time we stop for coffee. How about you, Cas? Coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee anymore, Dean," Cas pointed out.

"Oh, that's right - molecules," Dean said. "But I drink coffee. And if I'm going to be stuck driving for another two hours, I'm gonna need it."

Cas smiled.

"Coffee sounds great, Dean," he said, turning to match Dean's gaze out the windscreen.


	9. Chapter 9

A man in a black hooded sweatshirt marched down the corridor, his face flashing bright and dark as he passed the torches that illuminated his way. He didn't hesitate when he reached the pair of closed doors at the end of the corridor, flinging them open as he strode into the chamber.

A dozen faces turned to face him when he entered the room, each partially cloaked by the dark hoods that adorned them. Though it was hard to see, each of them bore the Mark on their forehead as he did. 

Only one face in the room was unburdened - that of Him. The one that they had followed to Hell and back, and who would one day lead them to triumph.

He sat on the dais, chin resting on his hand as he surveyed the room. In any other room, He would have garnered no attention at all. There was nothing special in His height or appearance. His fair hair was a fairly standard style for someone of His apparent age. His clothes were just as plain - just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. There was something striking about the blue of His eyes, but nothing that would make you pause for a second look.

Because just as well, because if you did, you might notice the power that rested in His gaze. You might see that His shoulders were braced like a man about to go to war.

That was the beauty of their leader - He looked like an every-man. But on the inside, he was anything but. If He wanted, He could make worlds crumble at His feet. And that was exactly what He intended.

The hooded man felt a swell of pride in his chest as he looked upon his fearless leader, as he always did when he was in His presence. Except that this time, that feeling was tainted by the taste of shame. He had been given a job, and he had failed, and He would know. And when He did, he would be punished, and he would deserve it.

"My Lord."

The Leader looked down at him from where he sat, and smiled.

"Malachi. I see you have returned," He greeted, His voice warm.

Malachi watched as blue eyes looked him over, searching and coming up wanted.

"It seems you are missing something, Malachi," He said.

“Yes, my Lord,” Malachi replied. “We were beset upon when we were confronting our latest target. Oscar and Remus were killed.”

“As if I care about Oscar and Remus,” He said. “If those fools allowed themselves to come to harm, then I want them no part of Us. What about the girl?”

“The girl was dispatched of, just as You commanded,” Malachi said urgently, not wanting to disappoint Him. “I did it my self.”

“…And?” He asked. “Where is her blood?”

“I… I was unable to collect it,” he confessed. “As I said, we were interrupted…”

“So you didn’t bring me her blood?”

“There was no time,” he insisted. “Two men confronted us. They shot Oscar and Remus. I barely had enough time to stab the girl in the heart before escaping…”

“So you didn’t bring me her blood.”

He stood up, walking down the two small stairs, to stand in front of Malachi.

“I needed that blood, Malachi,” he said, his voice lowering. “How else am I to confirm if she was the Child we sought? They bear no outward marks to confirm or deny their lineage. The only way to know is to touch their blood or their soul. I need to know that the Child is dispatched before our Plans come to fruition, Malachi. How am I meant to know if they are or not, if you _do not bring me their blood_?”

Malachi swallowed hard.

“My apologies, my Lord,” he said. “It was never my intention. Had we not been interrupted…”

“Do you at least know who it was who interrupted you?” He asked. “Do you know if they know that we are looking for the Child?”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know _what_?”

Malachi swallowed again, before admitting, “Either. I do not know who they are. I do not know if they know who we are looking for… But they do not know who we are!”

“So… there just _happened_ to be… how many men?” He asked.

“Two.”

“…Two men waiting for you to attack the girl today – a girl, who, by the way, has no obvious value to the average man – and you are telling me that they do not know _why_ we were hunting her?” He asked, incredulous. “And you didn’t think maybe – just _maybe_ it might be an idea to discover the identity of such men before coming to see me?”

“One was tall,” Malachi blurted out. “Very tall. With floppy hair… and… the other was shorter and wore a leather jacket. He had…”

Malachi waved a hand at his chest.

“He had a necklace on. Pretty sure the older one was wearing flannel.”

Malachi watched as the corner of His mouth pulled with recognition.

“Well, well. The Winchester brothers. As if that isn’t a blast from the past?” He said.

Malachi felt his shoulders sag with relief.

“So what would you like me to do, my Lord?” he asked, desperate for a way to redeem himself.

“You? Nothing,” He said, snapping his fingers.

There was a loud crack as Malachi’s head snapped to the side, and his body fell down dead.

“Patrick,” He said, turning to the next hooded man next to him. “Gather a team. We must dispatch of the other candidates as quickly as possible. If the Winchesters know that we are after the Child, then our lives have just become that much more difficult. Do not disappoint me as Malachi did.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, nodding once before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

“Martin – I must ask that you return to Carson,” He said, turning to another. “Make sure Malachi did not leave behind a bigger mess than he believed he did. And if you come across the bodies of the failures, make sure to burn them. I do not need clues left behind as to our activities.”

He turned and marched back towards his chair on the dais.

“The War is coming, my disciples, and we must be ready for it. I do not believe in loose ends. Do _not_ make me have to clean up yours.”

“No, my Lord,” echoed around the chamber, in a hundred voices.

He leaned back into His chair, and surveyed His people, and smiled. He could feel the beat of drums in His head get louder, anticipation thrumming through his body. The War was coming, and vengeance would be His.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition, exposition, exposition.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't that difficult a conversation to decide on who would tell Grace about her lineage. Cas was obviously out, and Dean didn't feel like he had the ability to deal with the emotions that were sure to be raised by such a revelation. That left Sam - let's face it, he was the best at all that touchy-feely stuff, anyway.

The following morning, once they'd all had a chance to sleep and shower, they sat Grace down at the map table to explain everything. Sam sat next to her, leaning forward in an attempt to be closer to her eye level.

"So," he said. "We're sure you have a million questions about what happened yesterday."

"Well, yeah," Grace said, smiling nervously and rubbing the back of her neck. "It isn't everyday someone tries to kill you in your own backyard."

"Yeah, about that," Sam said. "Those guys - we don't know who they are exactly, but they seem to be part of an... organisation, and they did want to kill you."

"Nice, Sammy," Dean muttered in his baby brother's ear. "That's not gonna scare her at all."

"But why were they looking for me?" Grace asked.

"Because of who you are," Sam said.

"...Who I am? I'm a waitress at a diner."

"You're not just a waitress at a diner," Sam said. "Grace, what can you tell us about your father?"

"What?" she asked. "What's this got to do with my father? Is he a mob boss? You think this is a blood feud or something?..."

"He's not a mob boss," Sam said. "Look - do you know anything about him at all?"

Grace shook her head, apricot curls bobbing as she did so.

"Nope. Mom never said," she admitted. "I guess it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. Why?"

"Grace. Your father... Well, your father is God."

"Smooth, Sammy," Dean mumbled.

"Yeah, right," she chuckled. "No. Really."

"No. Your father really is God," Sam insisted.

"...What the Hell is that meant to mean?" Grace asked incredulously.

"It means you have a big brother whose name is Jesus," Dean supplied.

"Dean!"

"You have to be joking, right?" she said. "God isn't my father."

"I'm sorry, but He is," Sam said. 

"No. Seriously?" Grace insisted. "Is God even really a thing?"

"As real as angels are," Dean said, indicating Cas silently leaning against a pillar.

"Okay..." she ceded. "Maybe God can be real. But he's not my dad. Mom would have told me if He was."

"...Grace."

"She would have told me!" she insisted. "Besides - you didn't know my mom. My mom was not the type of person God would choose to have a kid with. She wasn't religious. She dated - _a lot_. She had a tattoo on her ass. Besides, my mum was shit at keeping secrets. There's no way in Hell that she could have kept _that_ a secret for eighteen years."

"I'm sorry, Grace. But it's true," Sam said softly.

"How?" she demanded, standing up. "How can you possibly think that? How is me being the spawn of God even an option?"

Sam turned to look at Cas.

"Want to field this one, Cas?" he asked.

Cas nodded, pulling himself from where he leaned against a pillar, to come sit at the table.

"Grace, as you know, I am an angel of the Lord," he started. "Part of what that entails is the ability to see things that humans cannot. When an angel looks at someone, we do not just see them as a whole. We see each particle they are made up of, and we can see the energy of their soul. When I look at you, I see the Grace of my Father running through your veins. You are brilliant to my eyes. I have only ever seen that brilliance once before, in a man named Yeshu'a, a man who Father acknowledged as his son."

"But how can you be sure?" she asked.

"Grace, I feel the truth of your birth in every fibre of my being," Cas insisted.

"But...why?" she asked. "Why would he create _me_? I mean, I'm not religious. I'm not smart. I'm not generous. I don't want to save the world. I can't perform miracles. I'm not special. I'm just... me."

She shook her head.

"I'm just me."

Dean was surprised when Cas reached across the table to grasp Grace's hand.

"You _are_ special, Grace," Cas said. "You always have been. And that has nothing to do with whose blood runs through your veins. The beautiful thing about human life is that each and everyone of you are unique. _You_ are the one who gets to decide your destiny. Sure, your life may be a bit more complicated than you originally considered, but God never gives anyone a challenge beyond what they can achieve. I believe in you. You should, too."

_Holy shit!_ Dean mouthed at Sam.

Grace nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Dean asked.

"Okay. So I'm gonna give you guys the benefit of the doubt and ignore the whole Child of God thing and store my freak out for now," she said.

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

"Wow," Dean said. "Okay. That's it - Cas is gonna do all our motivational speeches from now on."

"For now," Grace emphasised, pointing her finger at the brothers. "I retain the right to freak out at a point of my choosing. Once I decide whether or not you are all crazy or not."

"Fair enough," Dean ceded.

"Although I am fairly sure already that you guys are crazy," she clarified.

"Also fair," Sam said. "You kinda have to be, in our kind of work."

"And what kind of line of work is that, exactly?" Grace asked. "I know you guys said you hunt monsters for a living, but what does that actually mean?"

"Well, that's kinda a long story," Sam said. "Guess we better explain..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, but I swear I'm nearly done with the establishing chapters and will be on to something interesting soon!
> 
> Sadly I've got exams coming up, so not only do I not have a lot of time for writing, but my head is filled with all this rubbish that just turns my brain to mush and makes writing super hard! And then my brain insists on getting bogged down on minutiae like "Oh, I wonder how Grace would take being told she's the Child of God" and focusing on that instead of writing something actually interesting. The good news is, that's out of the way now, so the story should hopefully start moving.
> 
> Have a feeling at some point in the future I'm going to have to go back and actually edit this so it flows better, but hey, that's what the future is for!
> 
> Hopefully all you guys aren't bored rigid with me yet! Let me know what you think!


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